


a garden enclosed

by wordslinging



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Religious Content, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 00:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13282743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinging/pseuds/wordslinging
Summary: If Tomas thinks about it, it's not so difficult to suppose that with the scant handful of lovers he's known, he's still more experienced than Marcus. Marcus who was raised in the Church, who switches dizzyingly fast from closed-off and taciturn to baring his soul with an almost unnerving intimacy, who can be so effortlessly affectionate with the people whose lives he touches yet is so insistent that an exorcist must go without things like home and family and love.And once Tomas has had that realization, it feels like something precious and fragile has been unexpectedly placed in front of him. Not because of any naive association of virginity with purity, but because if he's right, it means that Marcus has either never wanted or never trusted anyone enough to take that step.





	a garden enclosed

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much just that one fic where Marcus is a virgin that I've been wanting to write since I got into the fandom, and in the process it became something of an Exorcist porn sampler platter featuring such offerings as Tomas not being entirely new to sex with guys, gratuitous Song of Solomon quotes, improbably perfect first times, Marcus crying during sex as we all know he would search your feelings you know it to be true, just a skosh of Tomas's kink for being told he's doing a good job, and some lines that I swear I wrote before the season 2 finale that are made even better/worse by it. ENJOY.

Marcus kisses with intent, kisses like he's trying to stake a claim, pressing Tomas against the nearest vertical surface and covering Tomas's mouth with his, tongue delving inside like he wants to devour him.

He kisses with such intensity that it's some time before Tomas can catch his breath (figuratively, but also, sometimes, literally) enough to stop and reflect on how Marcus never makes a move to do anything _besides_ kiss him.

It happens for the first time in Chicago, after Tomas leaves the Rances at the hospital (Kat's knee shattered a second time, Henry's arms a mess of fractures and torn muscles, and Angela may never walk again, but she still gripped his hand and whispered _thank you_ before the paramedics sedated her). He makes his way home, aching but triumphant, to find Marcus already there, the contents of Tomas's medicine cabinet strewn across the bathroom as he sits on the floor tending to a vicious cut on his arm. Tomas moves to help him, his own injuries forgotten when he sees how deep the gash is and how pale Marcus is from blood loss, already calculating how hard it's going to be to talk him into an ER visit.

"What _happened_?" he asks, looking up, and instead of answering Marcus lifts a hand, fingers ghosting over the cut on Tomas's forehead and sliding into his hair, and kisses him.

It feels inevitable, somehow, even as Tomas's heart pounds and his head spins. Like everything between them has been leading up to this, from the first moment their eyes met in St. Aquinas's--or even before that, from the first time Tomas saw Marcus in his dreams and didn't understand why.

He closes his eyes, brings his hands up to cup Marcus's face, and kisses back.

After that, it happens from time to time as they stay on the move, taking the cases Bennett manages to slip them or those they find on their own. They don't talk about it. They talk about their respective pasts--Marcus telling stories from his travels, Tomas reminiscing about life as a parish priest--they talk about which cheap roadside dinner option seems least unappetizing and how far they should push on before they stop for the night, they run through sections of holy rite until Tomas knows them backward and forward, but they don't talk about the kissing. It seems to just happen, a second time, and a third, and again and again until Tomas stops keeping count. 

Each time, no matter how brief the kiss, there's that same fierceness from Marcus, that desperate hunger that both overwhelms Tomas and leaves him burning with anger at the world for letting this man end up so starved for affection and contact. 

And each time, Marcus's mouth never ventures lower than Tomas's neck, and his hands never find their way under Tomas's clothes. At first Tomas assumes that's for his benefit, a pretense of restraint and deniability for the one of them who still has vows to break, even though Marcus knows he's willing to break them.

And that's the thing--God, he's _so_ willing, and if this is weakness, if this is sin, he doesn't _care_ anymore (though it's remarkably easy to convince himself it's not: God brought them together, God pointed the way to Marcus because He knew how much they needed each other, Marcus is not a weakness or a distraction, he is Tomas's lodestone, his guidance on this strange and terrible journey). It gets to a point where it's hard to believe Marcus can't tell how badly Tomas wants him, doesn't know that Tomas is his for the asking.

That's when it starts to dawn on him that maybe Marcus isn't holding back for his benefit, after all. 

If Tomas thinks about it, it's not so difficult to suppose that with the scant handful of lovers he's known, he's still more experienced than Marcus. Marcus who was raised in the Church, who switches dizzyingly fast from closed-off and taciturn to baring his soul with an almost unnerving intimacy, who can be so effortlessly affectionate with the people whose lives he touches yet is so insistent that an exorcist must go without things like home and family and love.

And once Tomas has had that realization, it feels like something precious and fragile has been unexpectedly placed in front of him. Not because of any naive association of virginity with purity, but because if he's right, it means that Marcus has either never wanted or never trusted anyone enough to take that step. If he wants and trusts Tomas that much--and considering that Marcus has kissed him breathless on a lumpy motel bed and then fallen asleep with his face in the crook of Tomas's shoulder on more than one occasion, it seems likely he does--Tomas knows he can't go about it carelessly.

***

In Boulder, three months after the Rance case, a demon inside a fifteen-year-old boy pulls a metal bed frame apart and sends pieces of it flying. Tomas lurches to the side as a length of iron comes straight at him; it rips through his shirt and scores an angry line along his ribcage before embedding itself in the wall behind him.

In the moment, it merits not even a pause as they scramble to secure the boy and continue the rite. After, when Marcus crowds him back against the wall of their motel room, Tomas expects a kiss but instead finds his shirt being pulled up. Marcus presses a hand to his ribs, thumb and forefinger bracketing the wound as he examines it. It's barely worth the name, a little broken skin and hardly any blood, but if he'd been slower or the demon's aim better…

"I'm all right," Tomas says, and when Marcus doesn't respond, he cups his cheek and turns Marcus's face toward his. "Marcus, I'm fine."

Marcus tears his gaze away from the barely-a-wound, from whatever he was picturing in its place, and studies Tomas's face for a long moment. When he leans in and presses his mouth to Tomas's, it's excruciatingly gentle.

They kiss slowly, softly. One hand still framing Marcus's face, Tomas lifts the other to the back of his head, earning a little shiver when he brushes a ticklish spot at the nape of Marcus's neck. Tomas's shirt is still rucked up between them, Marcus's hand now splayed on his stomach.

When the kiss breaks, Marcus leans his forehead against Tomas's and murmurs, sounding almost ashamed to admit it, "I can't lose you."

Tomas runs his fingertips through Marcus's short hair, blunt nails on his scalp causing another shiver. "You're not going to lose me."

"You're always so certain of everything," Marcus replies, a hint of a sting in his voice.

Tomas is so far from certain about so many things, but instead of pointing that out he holds Marcus between his hands and looks into his eyes.

"You're not going to lose me," he repeats. "I won't let that happen. _You_ won't let it happen. Trust me."

Marcus closes his eyes, then nods. "I do," he says. "I trust you, Tomas." 

Tomas kisses him again, firmly this time. He lets his hands trail down to Marcus's chest, sliding under his open shirt, and waits for another nod before pushing it from his shoulders, leaving him in his sleeveless undershirt. Marcus lowers his arms to shake the garment free, and then Tomas takes his hands and guides them to the front of his own shirt--still buttoned up, only his collar unfastened and laid aside.

Marcus's fingers tremble on the buttons, just a bit. As the shirt falls open, he slips his hands inside and runs them over Tomas's bare skin with a mix of hunger and reverence. His head is bent, his focus on the task; Tomas presses a kiss to his temple and leans his head against Marcus's, hands skimming up his arms to rest on his shoulders.

"Lie down with me?" he asks, and Marcus nods, bristly hair grazing Tomas's cheek.

They undress each other slowly as they move toward the bed, as Marcus stretches out on his back and Tomas leans over him. Their bodies are no mystery to each other; the way they live leaves no room for that. What's new is the freedom to look and touch all they like.

Marcus's body is a marvel of wiry muscle and scattered freckles, scars dotting his arms and torso like landmarks, and Tomas wonders if anyone has ever told him how beautiful he is. 

"You're beautiful," he says as he leans in for another kiss, and Marcus gives a self-deprecating chuckle that sends a pang through Tomas's heart. 

"You've already got me in bed, love, you don't need to flatter me."

Tomas sits back on his heels, brow furrowed. "I mean it, Marcus," he says solemnly.

Marcus meets his eyes, the wry look on his face falling away to leave something warm and vulnerable, and nods. "Thank you."

Tomas leans back down and kisses him again, and again, hands braced on Marcus's chest as Marcus's arms go around him. His fingers find one of the more prominent scars, the bite mark on Marcus's shoulder, and Tomas flattens his palm against it and murmurs "'Thou art all fair, my love, there is no spot in thee.'"

The smile that crinkles the corners of Marcus's eyes this time is more genuine. "Song of Solomon, really?"

"Can't argue with the classics," Tomas replies. He kisses the scar, kisses the jut of Marcus's collarbone and the hollow of his throat. "'Comely as Jerusalem, fearsome as an army with banners.'"

There's a sharp intake of breath that Tomas feels as much as hears, his mouth still wandering over Marcus's skin. A hand threads into Tomas's hair, grown unruly from life on the road, another pressing between his shoulder blades. "Tomas--"

"Yes," Tomas whispers. He slides a hand down from Marcus's chest to his stomach, feeling him tremble at the touch. He can feel Marcus's cock against his hip when they shift slightly on the bed, feel himself getting harder by the moment.

" _Tomas_ \--"

"I'm here," Tomas says, lifting his head to kiss the corner of Marcus's mouth. "I'm right here."

Marcus tilts his head, scattering kisses across Tomas's cheek, his ear, the line of his jaw. "I want--" he starts, letting out a sigh as he runs a hand down the length of Tomas's spine to the small of his back. "God, I don't even know, I just want to feel you. Please."

Tomas nods, and kisses him again, and throws a leg over Marcus's hip, settling astride his lap. 

It's been a long, long time since he made love to someone else with a cock--before his vows, before seminary, before Jessica. But there's no awkwardness, no fumbling. Their bodies fit together like they'd been made for it, and a line of song flits through Tomas's head-- _when we met I knew it right from the start, you were meant for me_ \--before Marcus's cock slides against his and he loses coherent thought.

Marcus lets out a ragged cry, both hands flying to grip Tomas's hips. His head falls back, exposing the line of his throat, and it would take a stronger man than Tomas to resist that temptation. He can feel Marcus's pulse hammering as he presses lips to the side of his neck, his skin hot as a brand. It's a struggle for Tomas not to echo that frantic rhythm in the way he moves against Marcus, but he tries to keep to a gentle, steady pace. Shifting his weight onto one elbow, Tomas works a hand between them to wrap around both their cocks. He swirls his thumb around the head of Marcus's cock, then his own, gathering and spreading precome until every thrust is a sweet, easy glide.

All his focus is on Marcus, his own pleasure an afterthought and any other possible concern so far away as to be negligible. All that matters is making this good for Marcus, making it the experience he deserves. Mouth still at his throat, Tomas draws another broken sound from him when he bites down gently and worries the spot with his tongue. One of Marcus's hands comes up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, while his other holds onto Tomas's hip with bruising strength. Marcus is panting in his ear now, gasping out half-formed words of which Tomas can only really make out his name and _yes_ and _please_.

There's little warning before Marcus comes, just a brief moment of tension and a sharp intake of breath, then wet warmth spreading between them. Tomas wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him close as he shudders, at the same time reaching down to finish himself off with a few quick strokes.

When the haze of pleasure clears, he's lying half on top of Marcus, feeling Marcus's heart pounding against his own chest. There's wetness on his face where their cheeks are pressed together, and Tomas's heart lurches when he realizes Marcus is crying.

"Are you all right?" he asks hastily, and Marcus gives a worldless nod, swiping at the tears with the heel of his hand. "Marcus, if I pushed too fast, or did something wrong--"

"No," Marcus says fiercely, opening his eyes and reaching up to cradle Tomas's cheek. "God, no, that was...Tomas, that was _perfect_."

Tomas smiles, warmed by the reassurance as much as the praise, and leans in to kiss the tears away.

He pushes away reluctantly a minute or so later, coming back with a damp washcloth from the bathroom, and Marcus eyes him contemplatively as Tomas cleans them both up. 

"Jessica's not the only person you'd been with before, was she?" he asks. "I guess I just assumed…"

"You weren't that far off," Tomas says wryly. He lets the cloth drop to one side and settles back on the bed, facing Marcus. "There was a girl I kissed in high school, a boy I wanted to kiss but never did...and then a boy I was with my sophomore year at Loyola, just for a few months. Then Jessica." He brings a hand to Marcus's face, thumb swiping at the last remnants of tears gathered under his eyelashes. "Then you."

Marcus turns his head to kiss Tomas's palm, smiling crookedly. "Well, at least one of us has some idea what we're doing."

"There was never anyone for you, before?" Tomas asks.

Marcus hesitates for a moment, then curls his hand around Tomas's and pulls it down to kiss the backs of his fingers. "Not like this," he murmurs.

Tomas instantly wants to ask _like what, then?_ , but something in Marcus's expression stops him. He goes in for a kiss instead, Marcus's mouth open and eager beneath his.

"Then I'm glad it was good," he murmurs when the kiss breaks. "Whatever happens between us, whatever we do, I just...want it to be good for you." 

Marcus brings his arms up and around Tomas, tilting his head up to kiss his forehead, and Tomas wants to wrap them both up in this moment and stay there forever, warm and close and safe. He reaches down to pull the covers up around them, then settles against Marcus with his head on his shoulder and one arm thrown across his waist.

"You're so beautiful," Marcus says, low and soft, combing his fingers through Tomas's hair. "Sometimes I look at you and all I can think is 'what is he _doing_ here with me?'"

Tomas gives a fierce little shake of his head, pressing a kiss over Marcus's heart. "I'm exactly where I want to be," he whispers, and feels Marcus's arms tighten around him in response.


End file.
